Lost In Time: A Scotty Story
by Haiza Tyri
Summary: Montgomery Scott wakes up in 20th-Century San Francisco with no memory of who he is or where he's from. Adventures in discovering normal American life.  Rather AU for Star Trek late-20th-Century timeline.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is a story I wrote more than ten years ago, when I was in high school. It's a bit rough, a bit immature, a bit imprecise in its Star Trek details and timeline, rather terrible in its fake Scottish accent, with some "interesting" grammar and punctuation, but it's fun**.** Please be kind to my little high school self. **

* * *

_"Morganna!" Philip Church shouted. He raced up the stairs of his sister's house to find her in her art room surrounded by paint. "Morganna, I understand!"_

_ "You understand what? Sit down; you don't want to injure yourself."_

_ "Injure myself!" the 50-year-old man snorted. "I jog everyday—it helps me think. But who cares about that? I _understand!"

_ "So you've said. What do you understand?"_

_ "What the Captain said so many years ago. Remember? Scotty said, '_I_ did it! It was supposed to happen!' Today, I read in a newspaper that I supposedly said I got my ideas from aliens, because I knew just what I'd find!"_

_ "Do you mean," Morganna gasped, "that you'll be famous into the 23rd century! That they knew you, and what you'd do, and that's why Kirk kept saying to do it, to not worry about anything, but to do it!"_

_ "Yes! I'm positive! The news that aliens helped me will survive till then, and everyone will wonder…until Scotty finds out that he did it!"_


	2. Chapter 2

He opened his eyes, looked around. He seemed to be in some sort of very small room, cluttered with equipment, that was moving forward. He was strapped down in a bed.

"McCoy, by th' seven whirlin' planets, where is it you've got me?"

A young woman moved to his side. She wasn't in uniform. "Shhh," she cautioned. "You're badly injured. I'll give you a sedative." She pulled out a cylindrical object that seemed to have a needle in one end.

"Where am I" he demanded. "What kind of hypo is that? By St. Andrew, this place is primitive. What is this, the 20th Century?" It was asked sarcastically, but the young woman looked puzzled.

"Of course it is."

"Well, you're in a right good fix, Montgomery Scott," he said out loud to himself. "Start readin' th' history books and you start havin' dreams that you're in th' past." He felt a prick on his arm, but ignored it. "Weel, I'll just have t' let the captain know his history books'r having an adverse effect on me…" He drifted off.

The other paramedic turned to look at him. "Strange guy. You think that knock on the head did something to his mind?"

"Funny costume he's wearing," the other mused. "These weird pants that come down to his calf, and that red shirt's a funny material. Did you see the upsidedown V-thing on it?"

"He probably just came form a costume party or something."

The ambulance pulled up to the hospital and the man on the stretcher was unloaded. The paramedics relayed their information to the Emergency Room staff. Two joggers had found the man unconscious in a park with his head all bloody, and they'd called 911. no one knew who he was or where he came from, but he'd called himself Montgomery Scott and had a Scottish accent. He was in good shape, save for the head, had a square, stubborn face and thick black hair. The doctors patched his head up, installed him in a room and began the search for relatives and friends, but there were no takers.

He opened his eyes the second time in his hospital room. His gaze roved around the room. What was this place? It didn't look familiar. A woman in white bustled in, saw him awake and smiled broadly.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Scott?"

"What is this place and why is my head hurtin'?"

"This is the San Francisco General Hospital. You've had a serious concussion, a small amount of brain damage."

"Brain damage? Why dinna ye fix it?"

"Fix it, Mr. Scott?" She looked at him compassionately. "You can't just fix damage to the brain, sir. It's simply something you have to live with unless it goes away of its own accord."

His brow wrinkled. "Strange. I seem to remember somethin'—a machine that McCoy'd put on a person's head t'fix such a thing…maybe it was just a dream."

"Is McCoy a friend of yours, Mr. Scott? We've been having trouble locating any friends or relatives of yours."

"McCoy…? I dinna remember…He wears blue…What's blue for? Why canna I remember?"

A tall man wearing a white jacket came in. "How's the patient, Nurse Michaels?" He smiled at Scott, who passed a hand over his forehead.

"Feelin' mighty confused," he answered for the nurse. "I canna remember."


	3. Chapter 3

Tests followed, and it was determined that Montgomery Scott had retrograde amnesia due to trauma to the brain. He recovered physically quite quickly, but could not remember where he had come from, who any of his friends or relatives were and, most of all, why everything around him was so unfamiliar to him.

He was amused at Styrofoam cups in the hospital cafeteria, bewildered by cars that stayed on the ground, confused by paper money, astonished at the limitations of TV and remote control—even opening doors with a doorknob had him raising his eyebrows. The problem was that he couldn't remember why such things should be strange to him when they were so familiar and natural to all the other people around him. What was more, he kept thinking involuntarily of better, more efficient things that could replace them, but when deliberating at length upon them, they faded from his memory. The first time he was allowed to get up and walk around, he walked into the door of his room, expecting it, for some reason he couldn't remember, to open of its own accord. When he took an elevator for the first time, he was astonished that he could feel it moving, and at how long it took to get from floor to floor—except he said "from deck to deck." Thinking that the TV in his hospital room was a computer, he spoke to it and thought it was broken when it did not respond. People, including his doctor, began to wonder if he was crazy, but there was no sign of dementia about him, simply that of a man with amnesia…out of his time.

When he was taken out of intensive care, he was placed in a room with another patient, a man of about 35 named Thomas Church. Tom was quite sympathetic to Scott's plight, and helped him with his unfamiliarity with the outside world by telling him about things: about jobs, about cars, restaurants, airplanes, TVs, computers, home cooking, gasoline, wood fireplaces and anything he could think of that characterized the world as he knew it. He found Scott and interesting person to talk to, but very puzzling in the way _he_ viewed the world. Almost as if he didn't belong there.

One day Tom found Scott staring at him strangely. "What's the matter, Scott?"

"I was just tryin' t'remember somethin'… I'm feelin' sure I have a friend who has a name like yourn…maybe not so much of a friend as a commander or a—a boss, you call them."

"Thomas?"

"Nae, 'tis somat about Church that rings a bell. But it's got a Scottish feel to it. I know I should be able t' think of it right off…"

"Church…Scottish…" Tom mused. "No, wait! Scottish church! A—um, what do you call them—kirk! Is his name Kirk?"

"There you've got it, laddie! That's soundin' right. Kirk. I've got a sort of blurry picture in me head of what he looks like… He's a right handsome lad, no older than yourself, a wee bit reckless but smart and sensible. A good commander, he is. He wears green and gold."

"Do your remember what this is with colors?" Tom queried. "You told me you'd said something about a McCoy, whom you don't remember now, who wears blue."

"Nae, I'll have t'be working on that. McCoy, now. There's a good Scottish name, or Irish. What does that name bring to mind? A man aboot me own age, I'd say. Verra good at what he does, but irritable. He's got a good heart, though. I really canna remember much aboot them. It's like little bubbles of memory suddenly burst on occasion."


	4. Chapter 4

As he got better, Scott began to wonder what he would do when he got out of the hospital. Nothing was familiar to him, so he would have to start from the very beginning in order to get a job. He wondered what he was good at. Meanwhile he got to know Tom quite well, and his family, too, as they came to visit. His wife, Melissa, was petite, blonde, pretty, and vivacious. His three children were young and active but polite and well-mannered. The oldest was a 12 year old boy named Philip, a tall, quiet, freckled child who resembled his mother and, according to his father, was torn between two loves, baseball and airplanes. Morganna was a nine year old beauty with large, angelic blue eyes and long, curling brown hair, but she was, according to her mother, a mischievous little prankster, besides being extraordinarily intelligent at math and languages. The baby of the family, two year old Shirley with pale blond curls and soft brown eyes, was, everyone agreed, an angel. When this little family learned that Scott was lacking friends, relatives, and a place to live, they decided, after a whispered conference, to have him come stay with them.

"Now, then, I couldna come an' intrude on ye," he protested.

"You're right," Tom smiled. "It would be impossible for you to intrude. Now as an honorary member of the family, it would be your rightful place in our house."

"Please, Mr. Scotty," Morganna begged.

"It would be just great if you could come," Philip interjected quietly.

Scotty looked over at Tom and Melissa. There was no note of hesitation or uncertainty on their faces. Finally he smiled. "All right," he agreed. "And it's thanking you very much I am. But I reserve th' right to kick meself out if it becomes a problem."

Tom and Scott were discharged from the hospital on the same day, and Scott was installed in the Churches' home. Soon everyone in the family was calling him Scotty, a name which pleased him a good deal, for he seemed to vaguely remember friends calling him that, especially the one called Kirk.

"The first thing," Tom said, "is to get you a job."

Scotty smiled wryly. "I dinna ken what kind of job I'm fit for, and no records have been found t'indicate what I've done. What do ye do for a man who has no identity? I canna get—what did ye call it?—social security because I haven't a number, ye've got t'have records, I think, t'get your unemployment…"

"Everything's being done to find some record of your identity," Melissa said. "You're Scottish; inquiries are being made in England and Scotland. You appear to be a military man; inquiries are being made among the military also."

Indeed a large scale search was being executed across two continents, but little was found by way of results. Many Scotts and Scots were located; none knew of this particular Montgomery Scott, nor was his face recognized by anyone in search of missing relatives or friends. Meanwhile the Churches found that Scott fit in well with their little family. Morganna was thrilled with his Scottish accent, and began to adopt it herself. Shirley, usually shy around strangers, loved him. And their parents often found Scotty working with Philip on his airplane models. Scotty was constantly marveling over all these _old_ planes, like the Boeings and Concordes and fighter planes Philip loved, and puzzling Tom and Melissa with his words. The newest planes seemed old to him, the new spaceshuttle, readying to go into space, he called antiquated, even primitive. It perplexed them, _and_ him, to no end. He had no idea how he knew so much about the latest flight technology and why it seemed so obsolete to him he kept coming up with strange words to describe technology, like "matter-antimatter," which Tom told him was impossible because it would create such a large reaction—larger than a nuclear bomb. At which Scotty snorted, "Nuclear! Those old nuclear bombs weren't worth what it cost t'build 'em. Good thing we came up wi' photon torpedoes. There's nae way we could do anythin' wi' nuclear bombs. They'd just crash up against th' shields…" He stopped, shook hs head, looked bewildered. "What was I talkin' about?"

"I have no idea," Tom said, eyes wide. "Photon torpedoes, shields…you called nukes _old,_ as if…" He trailed off, staring at Scotty.

"As if," Philip, who'd been following the conversation, said, "he was from the _future."_

"Philip," Melissa said gently, "I think you've been reading too much science fiction."

"Well, why not?" the boy demanded. "Just because time travel has never been done doesn't mean it _can't_ be done. In the future, things like that could be possible. I've been thinking about that. Scotty doesn't have anybody here who knows him, but _everybody _has got somebody who knows him, unless he was sent from the future into the past. And he keeps talking about things from now as if they were really old. Like we would talk about a—a horse and buggy, or one of those really big boats with sails like they used hundreds of years ago."

Melissa was about to protest again, but Tom stopped her. "Who's to say that's not so? After all, we don't know all of what's possible? What do you think, Scotty?"

"Ships," Scotty murmured. Then he looked up abruptly. "I say it could be possible. But if it's so, it's my friends who'll have to be findin' me, because there's nothing I can do here to find them."

"What do you mean, ships?" Philip said. "Navy?"

"I've got an image in me mind of a ship, a sleek, white lady. I love her, this ship. She's verra bonny." He picked up a pencil, took a napkin from the napkin holder on the table and sketched on it, drawing, erasing, scrutinizing, frowning and finally smiling in satisfaction at the finished result. "She's like this."

The three others leaned forward over the table to look, expecting to see some sort of ship that floats. Instead they saw something that did not even resemble a ship as they knew it. A saucer-shaped hull in the front and two slender cigar shapes in the back were attached to the stouter cigar below them. It was only a rough drawing, but it looked real…it looked legitimate, not like something invented by a crazed brain. They stared at it, then they stared at him.

"That's not a ship," Melissa blurted.

"Yes, it is!" Philip exclaimed. "Look at it! It's a space ship! How big is it?"

"I'm not sure…" Scotty stared at the picture he'd drawn, and something tickled his brain. "Four—four hundred people?"

"Four _hundred?"_ Tom exclaimed.

"A space ship?" Melissa echoed.

Philip was already scrambling for a larger piece of paper and colored pencils. "Can you draw it better?"

"Weel, I'm nae an artist, I know that, but I'm thinking I can make technical drawings." He chose a grey pencil. "I dinna remember what she's called or what she's there for, but I ken every meter of her, inside an' out." He drew carefully, with Philip watching his every stroke of the pencil. "This is the saucer hull, th' main part o' th' ship. The wee bulge at th' top is the bridge, where they control here, and the rest is composed of decks, wi' th' crew quarters, sickbay… These two are nacelles, where th' matter-antimatter engines are. I'm in charge of th' engines, I can make 'em work better than anybody."

"You are remembering a lot," Melissa said.

"Aye, in pieces. It's like—" he paused a moment, "it's like a piece of material that's mostly holes. I can remember threads of things here an' there, but the most of it is gone. I can remember th' ship because she's verra important to me, but why she's there, _when_ she exists…all gone. It'll probably come back, as this is comin' back." Several minutes later he held up the finished drawing. It was in much more detail than the first sketch.

"Does it have a name?" asked Melissa.

"She does…but I dinna remember it."

Both Tom and Philip remembered something at the same time and started to speak simultaneously. Tom gestured to his son. "Go ahead, Phil."

"Those clothes you were wearing when they found you in the park," the boy said excitedly. "Could they be some kind of uniform for your ship?"

"Hmm. I think so. You want t' get them? Top bureau drawer."

He dashed off, and Tom said, "I just recalled the man you called Kirk. Do you think he's your captain? You called him a commander several times."

"Captain Kirk," Scotty said. "That's him. He belongs t' th' ship as if he was born there."

Philip came dashing back, the red shirt, black pants and boots in his arms. Scotty took them, held up the shirt, traced the symbol on the front. "Engineering. That's what red is for. Colors, Tom! Green and gold are command, red is engineering and security, blue is science."

"That's logical," Melissa commented. "If you have four hundred people on your ship, you'll want to know what a person does if you need to consult him."

Scotty suddenly smiled. "Logical. What does that word remind me of? Some laddie who's always using it, thinks humans're faulty because we're not perfectly logical. He's a wee strange…"


	5. Chapter 5

Over the days that followed, Scotty remembered more and more. He drew a precise diagram of the matter-antimatter pods and explained to Tom how they worked, but his friend didn't understand it all.

"Nae, of course not," Scotty explained. "It takes a person years of studyin' and workin' t' become a top engineer. Ye canna understand it in a sitting."

"Now, I've read that they are doing matter-antimatter experiments in Switzerland," Tom said. "If you were to give these diagrams to them and tell them all you've told me, think of what it would do for the future of technology!"

Scotty shook his head. "First of all, I doubt they'd believe me. Second do fall by providin' th' information too early, before they can invent it themselves, we could be changin' the future. If I got back, there might not be that ship for me t' return to, or me friends t' go back to, or I might not even be born."

"But the future is as yet unwritten," Melissa protested.

He looked somber. "Not for me. And we've got a rule that says we canna interfere with the natural development of a civilization. That includes, I'm thinkin', our own."

"Civilization?" Philip said excitedly. "Does that mean alien civilizations? Life on other planets?"

"Aye, that's right. I suppose it hasn't been discovered yet, but it's there. There's aliens on th' ship, herself, though out in space we're aliens as much as they are. Wait, wait…I'm getting' somethin'. I remember a laddie—he's the…First Officer, and good at it he is. He's Human, but he's not, at th' same time…He's half an alien, and he hates bein' Human, poor lad. He's got a funny name, but I canna remember it now."

"What does he look like?" Philip asked eagerly.

"He's tall, black hair cut kinda funny, pale yellowish skin, long eyebrows that slope up, like this," tracing a line across his brow, "and ponted ears."

"Pointed!" Melissa said. Closing her eyes, she pictured it. "How romantic!"

Scotty grinned. "Aye, that's how many o'th' ladies see him. I don't see what they see in him, meself. He's also th' Science Officer, wears blue, a fine lad, but a wee bit uptight. Weel, more than a wee bit. Never smiles—thinks it's wrong t' have emotion. His people try t' live by logic alone, and think that showin' or even feelin' any emotion is in bad taste."

"Oh, those poor people!" Melissa whispered.

"Aye, they're great people, but much t'be pitied. They don't like t' be pitied, though. They pity _us,_ for havin' emotion."

"What other kinds of aliens are there?" Philip asked.

He told them about Klingons, Andorians, Telarites, Orions, Romulans and a score of other "aliens." Philip was enthralled, and even his parents listened avidly.


	6. Chapter 6

As time went on, Scotty remembered more and more. His doctor said that was natural; anything could happen with his kind of amnesia. His brain had been bruised badly, but was healing itself, like any bruise. His memory would completely return in time.

"Then," he said gloomily, "I'll know where I'm from but not how to get back." He stared out the window of the car, which he had gotten used to riding in by now.

"With what you've told us about your friends, they should be able to do it," Tom said.

But Scotty wasn't listening. "Stop! Stop the car!"

Startled, Tom slammed on the brakes.

"Sorry," Scotty said, jumping out of the car. He was staring up at a sign that said, "Enterprise Car Rental."

Tom jumped out after him. "What is it?"

"That's it! That's the name of me ship, me lady! _Enterprise!"_ Memories flooded back in: joking with his beloved Captain K irk, fixing the engines many a time, tribbles covering the bridge, the satisfactory feeling of punching a Klingon out, Spock's name, his fury when Khan took over the ship, his little nephew's delight when he first saw the engine room… Tears almost came to his eyes. Would he ever see her again?

He felt Tom's hand on his shoulder. _"Enterprise?_ It's a good name."

"Let's go," Scotty sighed. He was very quiet as they drove. "Do ye think I'll see her again?"

Tom reiterated, "Your friends seem very proficient in time travel. They have the technology to do what they need to get you back."


	7. Chapter 7

And it was that two weeks later, Morganna, Philip, Tom and Melissa were in the living room playing a board game one evening (Scotty was upstairs, having been cajoled into playing with Shirley, before she went to bed) when the doorbell rang. Morganna ran to answer it, her mother behind her, and they found three men at the door. The oldest had a gruff, worried face, but his blue eyes were warm and his smile engaging. The tall one wore a stocking cap despite the warmth of the July evening, and his face was solemn. One was younger than the other two, handsome, with a commanding air. He said, "We were looking for a man named Scott. Do you know him? He put an advertisement in a paper for me."

"Oh my," Melissa said. "You must be Captain Kirk."

Morganna was dancing up and down excitedly. "Are you Spock?" she asked the tall one. "You look like you should be."

"My name is Spock," he said.

Morganna smiled her enchanting smile at them. "Live long and prosper, Mr. Spock. I'm Morganna Church."

An eyebrow went up, but he, without missing a beat, returned the salute. "Live long and prosper, Morganna Church."

The little girl giggled delightedly. "Philip! Dad! It's Spock and Captain Kirk! Phil, go get Scotty!"

Philip dashed upstairs, while Tom joined his wife and daughter at the door. "Um, please come in, gentlemen."

"Are you Dr. McCoy?" Morganna was continuing. "Why aren't you wearing your uniforms? I did want to see them."

"Morganna, hush," her mother said quietly.

Then the three men, who had been looking at each other in puzzlement, stared at the sight of Scotty charging out of the door with a tiny blond girl in his arms.

"Captain Kirk! Good t'see you, it is! Mr. Spock, Doctor!" He was grinning wildly. "Let me introduce ye t' me friends. This is Tom Church and his wife Melissa."

Tom was grinning too. "I'm sorry we stared so rudely, Captain. We've never seen anyone transported before—and we've never had the pleasure of meeting a Vulcan, Mr. Spock."

Spock shook his head and pulled off the stocking cap, stuffing it into a pocket. Morganna and Philip were both staring at him, eyes wide.

"And this little lassie is Shirley," Scotty said, smiling tenderly at her. She looked shyly at Kirk, Spock, and McCoy, then hid her head in Scotty's shirt. The three men still couldn't get over seeing Scott dressed in 20th Century clothes and carrying a baby around. "Looks like you've met Morganna. This lad is Philip."

"We're, er, pleased to meet all of you, and to see you again, Scotty," Kirk said. "But frankly, I'm confused about, well, how you all now about us, and why Scotty's at your house, and why Morganna," he smiled at her, "knows about Vulcans."

"It's a loong story, Captain."

"Why don't you come inside, have some lemonade, and we'll tell you all about it," Melissa suggested. The three exchanged glances, and were soon sitting around the dining room table with the family and Scotty. Melissa and Morganna passed around tall glasses of a pink liquid. Spock glanced at his quizzically. "Have you had lemonade before, Mr. Spock?" Melissa asked.

"No, I have not."

"It's made with lemon juice, sugar, and water. No animal products."

Morganna jostled into a chair beside Spock, and Melissa saw on his austere face something almost like a smile as he looked at her daughter. Philip was sitting across the table from him and Kirk, and could hardly take his eyes off these men from the future, especially the alien. If Scotty hadn't already been his hero, Spock would have been.

"Now then, Captain," Scotty said, "could ye first be tellin' me why I'm here, in the past? I dinna remember anything aboot it."

Kirk and Spock glanced at each other. "Ahem," Kirk said awkwardly. "Scotty, could I see you privately for a moment?"

"Aye, Captain."

They stepped out of the dining room into the hall, and Kirk said quietly, "Scotty, what about the Prime Directive?"

"Aye, Captain, I've given that a good deal of thought. But, you see, I had amnesia for a while, and when I began rememberin' things, I told them to th' Churches as I remembered them, so that by th' time I remembered aboot th' Driective, I'd already told them too much not to satisfy their curiosity by tellin' them the rest. It would have been inhuman."

Kirk gave Scotty a long look, and Scotty looked back at them with that patently innocent expression he could assume at will. "Very well, then," Kirk said. "I'll accept that."


	8. Chapter 8

They returned to the dining room and took their seats again. "Just a little business we had to clear up," Kirk explained. "Now, about the accident. We were approaching Earth, and Scotty was working on something to do with the warp drive—which," he added for those who didn't know, "warps space-time to propel the ship faster than the speed of light. Very complicated process—probably the only people on the ship who could explain it to you fully would be Spock and Scotty. Do you remember doing the experiment, Scotty?"

"Vaguely, Captain. I think I was tryin' t' convert th' warp coils t' change the flux in order t' warp space-time a little differently…Ah, yes…"

"Please," Kirk smiled, "spare us the technical details for now. Anyway, something went wrong—Spock has that all figured out—and it created a wormhole."

"Wormhole?" Tom inquired.

"A tunnel," Spock explained, "making s shortcut between two parts of space that are too far apart to reach easily. They appear at the most inconvenient times, and always collapse again."

"Anyway," Kirk continued, "Scotty disappeared and we were propelled, in the space of five minutes, five weeks away at Warp 9. so while we were making our way back, Spock was investigating the wormhole and what caused it and what might have happened to Scotty. He found the time matrix that you inadvertently discovered in your experiment, Scotty, and began looking through the computer banks to see if there were any traces of you in the past. We could only hope you were on Earth, as the space-time flux could have warped you anywhere. Yesterday he found the advertisement you put out."

"Which one?"

"It was in the San Francisco Times, June 1999," Spock said. "A full page advertisement stating, 'Montgomery Scott to James T. Kirk of Enterprise, Ohio, June 10, 1999. Please answer at 255 Sycamore, San Francisco, California, USA.'"

Scotty grinned. "We didn't want a hundred other James Kirks t'apply. Worked, didn't it?"

"Yes, itw as very succinct. Were there other advertisements?" Kirk asked.

"Aye, we did a good many of 'em before I remembered everything, all askin' if anyone knew of a Montgomery Scott, please apply at… We got several answers, but no one knew me. Then when I remembered everythin', we put in a series of ads, startin' wi' that one. For some reason, ye locked onto it and came here directly. T's actually glad I am that ye dinnna come sooner," casting a fond glance at the Churches, "strange as it may seem."


	9. Chapter 9

"Tell me about your amnesia," McCoy said.

"Aye, me amnesia. Weel, it was interestin' at first. A couple laddies found me in a park and sent medics t' take care of me. They tell me I woke up i' the ambulance—that's an emergency vehicle belongin' to a hospital, ye know—woke up in the ambulance, addressed you, Dr. McCoy, said my name…but I dinna remember it. I remember being in the hospital, but I had t' take their word that my name was Montgomery Scott. And everythin' seemed so strange, ye know, because I wasn't used t' this century, but I couldna remember why it was so strange. Philip here came up wi' th' idea that I might be from the future. Anyway, th' doctors said I'd start rememberin' things eventually. Since I had nowhere to go, Tom and Melissa took me in, and I've gradually recovered my memory in talkin' to them and th' bairns." Shirley, still clinging to him, had fallen asleep in his arms, and he said, "Excuse me, and I'll put this one t' bed."

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy all gazed after him as he left the room. Melissa grinned.

"You didn't know he liked children?"

"We've never had an opportunity to see him around children," Kirk answered. "He's generally holed up in Engineering, and when we get shore leave, he spends his time reading technical manuals."

"He had no technical manuals here," Tom said. "So he built an airplane with Philip and taught Morganna about how planes work."

Just as Scotty was entering the room again, Kirk suddenly stared at Philip. "Wait a minute! Philip Church? Are you Philip Kyle Church?"

The boy nodded, his eyes wondering.

"Well, I'll be… Spock, I'm surprised you didn't catch that!"

"I did, Captain. I simply did not wish to draw attention to the fact."

Scotty smacked himself on the forehead as he sat down. "Of course! Why dinna I realize it?"

Who had not heard of Philip Church, whose work in physics on the concepts of relativity and space-time had led to Zephram Cochrane's breakthrough in the concept of warp-drive? His name ranked with Galileo, Newton, Einstein, Hawking, and Cochrane as Earth's physics greats. The difference between him and the others was that he had no great genius for the work; he had simply declared a belief in the possibility of faster-than-light-speed travel and had worked unswervingly until he had discovered what he wanted to know. He had conceived the theory, and Cochrane put it to use. Many people declared that he knew it was possible because of some kind of intervention; some said divine, others that aliens had told him… His own writings from his personal journal that had been published after his death, mentioned many times what a certain "Scott" had told him; it was believed that Scott was an unknown colleague.

Scotty sank into a chair. "It was supposed to be," he said, awed. "Captain, _I_ did it! What people claimed is true, and I did it!"

"I would extrapolate the same scientific conclusion," Spock said, as unmoved as ever.

Tom, Melissa, and Philip were staring at them, wondering what in the world they were talking about.

"Philip," Kirk said gently, "we can't tell you what we're talking about now. Let me give you some advice. Whatever you're planning to do now, do it. Don't worry about what Scotty's told you about the Prime Directive or anything; just do it, and when you've done it, you'll understand what we're talking about. It's about time for us to leave. But a word of caution to you all; do not tell anyone about us or anything you've learned from us. You could change the future and endanger us. But I'm choosing to leave you with the knowledge of what you've learned, for reasons of my own and for history's sake. Some day you'll understand, believe me."

When they were outside, ready to beam up, Morganna burst into tears. "I don't want Scotty to go!"

"Ah, lassie." He knelt down and put his arms around her. "I dinna want t' leave ye, either, but I mun. I belong up there wi' my ship, just as you belong here, wi' your family. Give me a kiss now, and dinna make it too hard on yoursel'." Childish lips touched his cheek, and then Philip shyly hugged him, tears brimming in his eyes. Melissa was wiping away tears of her own as she hugged him, and Tom could only shake his hand firmly. "Thank you," Scotty said. "Thank you everythin'." He looked at them mutely, then stepped back and disappeared in the transporter effect.


End file.
